Killer Instinct
by mbulsht
Summary: "Those who live by the sword shall die by it!" cried the Abbot. "So shall those who cower behind high walls and think themselves safe," said Vara coldly. "The day will come, Father Abbot, when you will realize you were wrong. What will you do then?"
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE: "Black Winter Night"

It was a bitter wind that blew through the naked trees of Mossflower Woods. The river Moss was coated with a fine layer of ice. Thin, yet existent. The ground below was dry and freezing, adding to the barren feel of the wood. The sky above was black. The stars had been all but snuffed out by the clouds above, who threatened to unleash their pregnant bellies upon the world below. And it was dark; very dark. The moon was stuck behind the swollen clouds. There was no light to speak of, for that which would light the way was held prisoner by the threatening sky. And so, the Abbey which nestled deep in Mossflower was dark as well. But even in the cold dark of the winter night, Redwall was impressive. Simply to stand near its towering walls, to feel the cold stone that it was comprised of, was enough to humble even the most egotistic of creatures.

A piece of black that was darker than the surrounding black detached itself from a tree and scampered silently to the outermost wall of the Abbey. In the dark, it was impossible to see, but it was there, a silent black-robed creature. Pausing, It sniffed the air, tasting it for the scent of any threat. With a quick motion that denoted much practice, the blacker than black creature climbed up the great wall. In nearly an instant, It had scaled the wall and was scrambling silently over the parapet. It was a feat that had been done only once, by a rat named Shadow. But never had the great walls of Redwall been climbed so quickly and with such dexterity.

Above, on the ramparts, It wove Its way through snoring guards who slept, wrapped in warm blankets and warmer dreams. Near It's footpaws, an otter stirred, mumbling at nothing in particular. The creature looked down at the napping guard and shook Its head with disapproval. Certainly _these_ weren't the true guards of Redwall. What sort of watch slept on such a dark and frightening night? No matter. It bent down and pulled the otter's blanket up over its shoulders. The otter smiled in his sleep and turned over. Very softly, the black creature sighed in disdain for the lack of security. Then, with yet another dexterous move, it leaped over the other side of the parapet and fell a long way down, landing with a minute thud, and the rustle of Its dark cloak.

The black creature moved quickly, and with purpose, past the gatehouse and pond. It reached the great doors that marked the entrance to the inner sanctum of Redwall. Looking around, It carefully placed a black paw on the doorhandle and pulled. The door creaked loudly, and the creature paused, Its ears flicking this way and that under Its hood, searching for sounds of alerted guards, but It heard nothing. Pulling slower, the creature opened a crack in the door wide enough to slip through.

The Great Hall was dark, even darker than outside, if such was possible. Yet the creature was able to make Its way about. Working quickly, It grabbed a candle and lit it with flint and steel produced from the dark robes It wore. Reaching up, the creature removed Its hood. In the dim light thrown askew by the single flame, one would have seen a squirrel, black as could be, standing amidst the towering columns that held up the high ceiling. The black squirrel moved slower now, taking in with awe the massive surroundings. It moved silently over to the corner in which hung the famed Tapestry of Redwall. Setting down the candle on the table below the tapestry, the squirrel moved back to admire the beautiful artwork. It's eyes traced the curling designs along the border, and the finely sewn flowers that decorated the centerpiece. And, with great reverence, the squirrel looked upon the face of Redwall's greatest. Even in cloth, Martin the Warrior gave off a presence. His face resonated kindness and geniality; his stance gave off an aura of bravery and an unwavering sense of justice. He was a warrior through and through; a creature who fought for righteousness. The squirrel closed Its eyes and took in the air through Its nose, as though trying to sense the very spirit of the hallowed artwork. Smiling, It clapped its paws together and bowed in a foreign gesture of respect. With one last look at the gentle Warrior, It took up Its candle and moved towards the opposing wall. Reaching the foot of a great staircase, It paused once more to look around. Satisfied that It hadn't been seen, the squirrel scampered up the staircase and found Itself in a hall of doors. These were the Redwall dormitories. Stepping silently, the squirrel made Its way down the hall, pausing at a single door. As with the massive doors of the Great Hall, It cracked this door and slipped quietly in, candle raised.

The room was sparsely decorated, a simple nightstand situated next to the bed, and less than ornate curtains shielding the outside view. But the squirrel took none of this in, more intent on the sleeping form nestled under the blankets. It set the candle down on the nightstand and knelt until It was level with the face of the sleeping creature. The light of the candle illuminated a sleeping squirrelmaid, who peacefully lay on the bed. The black squirrel studied her face a moment, cocking Its head this way and that, as though trying to divine some great meaning from the sleeping form. With a smile akin to the one It had shown Martin, the black squirrel reached out its paw and gently stroked her face. The squirrelmaid stirred and smiled in her sleep.

Silently, the black squirrel rose. It had seen what It had come to see. Quickly, It snuffed out the candle, and slipped back through the cracked door. Even in the pitch black, the squirrel was somehow able to see as It ran down the stairs two at a time, and wove Its way through the columns of the Great Hall. Slipping (silently again) through the cracked Great Hall doors, It went down on all fours, at a full run now. And, with little more than a whoosh of Its robe and a slight patter of paws, the squirrel was up one side and down the other of the great walls. An otter guard, still half asleep, saw a dark form with a brush tail leap over the ramparts. Deciding it was a dream, the guard slipped back into sleep, snoring slightly.

The squirrel slowed when it was a good distance from Redwall. It stopped and looked back at the looming fortress, and sighed. It spoke, Its voice revealing more than Its appearance ever could.

"Vara," he said, for a male voice is what sounded from Its mouth. "Its up to you now." His voice was soft, yet heavy with sadness.

He turned away, pulling the hood over his head once more to ward off the cold.

"Save Redwall," he said as he walked away from from the Abbey. "Save Redwall. Do what I could not."

* * *

In the blackest of winter nights, a squirrel walked through the silent lands of Mossflower Woods. He walked with a slow pace, as though heavy with some burden. Fear, perhaps, or anger. Looking up, he silently cursed the clouds for covering the moon and the stars. Light was not so abundant here. Perhaps, considered the squirrel, it was an omen. Perhaps.

To break the silence, the squirrel opened his mouth and made an attempt at a song. He sang it slowly, as a lament. A ballad.

"_If spring can take the snow away,  
__If spring can take the snow away,  
__Can it melt away all our mistakes?  
Can it melt away all our mistakes?_

_Memories made in the coldest winter.__  
Goodbye my friend,  
I won't ever love again...."_

Trailing off, the squirrel halted his walk and looked up again, his face a picture of frustration. He had forgotten the rest of the words. Shaking his head sadly, he resumed his slow march off into the woods silently, ever walking towards an unknown destination.


	2. Dreams and Unknowns

A/N: hey, guys, sorry for the slow update. I've been kinda slow on all my fics. But whatever. Here's the first chapter of part one of this fic. Hope you like it.

* * *

PART ONE: "THE GOLDEN AGE OF REDWALL"

* * *

CHAPTER ONE: "Dreams and Unknowns"

It was misty. This was Vara's first thought as she looked around, finding herself in a place completely shrouded in the stuff. It was misty, and that was strange, because it was not cold. Or wet. She waved her paws back and forth in front of her, observing as her paw agitated the thick mists, but she felt nothing. Not even the telltale cold wetness that characterized the feel of mist. She realized that she could not see very far in front of her, and stuck her paws out as she walked forward, searching for anything solid in the thick air. But as far as she walked, there was nothing. Only the never ending fog. Vara felt fear begin to creep into the back of her mind, and she brushed it away with practiced ease. Nothing would come from worrying.

Paws outstretched, she continued onward. Though, as time grew on, she felt a different kind of uneasiness creep in. She felt as though she was being watched. Once or twice she thought she heard some sort of flitting noise, and whipped her head around, only to see nothing it all but the swirling whiteness.

Then she heard it quite clearly: the tapping of footpaws.

Quickly she turned and put paw to sword, only to find that she was weaponless. At once she beheld a dark figure standing before her cloaked in black robes. She leaped back quickly and crouched low in a defensive stance, wary of the sudden appearance. But the figure did not make any move except to extend its paw in a beckoning gesture.

Vara frowned. Standing up tall, she looked from the figure's paw to its face, which was shrouded in the dark robe. Sensing that the creature meant little harm, she stepped forward slowly, her paw reaching out also. But as she was about to grasp the creature's paw, the floor opened up and she was plunged into cold water. She looked around, and saw that the mists were gone. She realized that she was in the ocean. Looking up, she saw ominous clouds above, and heard the loud rumble of thunder. She was in a storm.

The water began to throw her this way and that, one moment she was treading water, and one moment she was many lengths under, holding her breath against the water. When she broke the surface, she realized that there was no land around. Nothing except the agitated water. Something it her shoulder. She looked over and saw a plank. Grabbing it gratefully, she rested her legs and breathed heavily. In the distance she saw what appeared to be a shipwreck, the origin of the plank. She was about to swim towards it when something hit her in the back of the head and her vision faded. Before all went black, she swore she saw a squirrel climbing up the mast of the dying ship, trying in vain to escape from the churning ocean.

* * *

Vara awoke from her dream gasping for air, a painful tightness in her chest threatening to strangle her. She threw off the blankets and got up on all fours, breathing heavily. Her heart beat frantically and seemed to leap into her throat. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, calming herself. And when at last it seemed the uncontrollable tightness in her chest waned, she at once leaped from her bed and wrenched open the drawer of her nightstand. She grabbed the only three items inside: quill, ink, and a small journal. Then, before her dream could fade away into nothingness, she recorded what she had seen that night. Her dream had not been a long one; it only took up about two pages. Even then, her writing was messy and large. Ruefully, she looked over what she had written. Brother Matthew would no doubt chide her for the scrawl she had scratched over the two pages. Oh, well. Perhaps writing was not meant to be her forte. She closed the small journal, put away the quill and ink and got up from her bed. She shoved the journal in her tunic, grabbed the simple wooden staff that leaned against her bed, and picked up the candle that had been laying on her nightstand.

Then she paused.

Looking down, she studied the candle carefully. She had been ready to return it downstairs to the Friar, when she realized that she couldn't remember ever taking it. That was certainly strange. And, as she thought about it, she rarely used candles because she slept early. Cocking her head to the side, she considered what this strange appearance meant.

It meant someone had been in her room during the night.

Shrugging, she left the room. It was a mystery that didn't really need solving. Taking the stairs two at a time, she made her way into the great hall. As she walked past the kitchens, she left the candle on one of the tables for the Friar. He'd probably want it back. Opening the Great Hall entrance doors slowly, so as not to make a sound, she slipped outside into the cool frosty morning.

It was but minutes before dawn, the world still and silent, waiting for the sun to come. Closing her eyes, she took in the sweet scent of the forest with a sigh. She loved the brisk mornings of Mossflower. She loved them because, cold as they were, they were beautiful. They were soft and reverent times of the day, before the coming of the sun. And, when at last the great orb cast its first glance over the tops of the trees and the tips of the hills in the distance, Vara thought there was nothing more breathtaking.

Today, however, it seemed that such a sight would be far from visible. Dark clouds filled the sky, and there seemed no end in sight. But this did little to dampen Vara's spirits.

With a slight bounce in her step, she made her way across the Abbey grounds to the stone steps leading up to the battlements. She paused by a rack of spears and grabbed one, testing it on the ground to ensure it was devoid of cracks and flaws. Then, she took to the stairs.

When she reached the top, her face fell at a familiar sight; all the guards were asleep. She sighed and rolled her eyes. It was a picture that greeted her (much to her annoyance) every morning. She was growing tired of it. With her spear, she nudged the nearest guard in the shoulder, causing him to stir and turn over, casting a sleepy eye around him. When he finally recognized Vara standing over him, he seemed to instantly snap awake. With a loud clanking noise, he jumped up and nearly fell over the edge of the wall, overbalanced by the armor he was wearing. Snapping a salute, he instantly stammered out what appeared to be a mixture of apologies and reports.

"Sorry, Ma'am! I was just beginning to nod off! All clear this night, and all that. Won't happen again! I, er..."

Vara leaned casually against the stone parapet, a smile playing across her lips. Outwardly, she gave the appearance of a stern commander, while on the inside dying with laughter at the sight.

"How many times am I going to come out her each morning to find the night guard asleep at their posts?" she said in a commanding tone.

The otter shifted uncomfortably. Around him, others were beginning to wake, and they were giving much the same clumsy reaction as the first otter had. There was a great scuffling and clanking of armor as all the guards came awake and snapped to their designated positions. Vara was unable to contain herself at the sight.

"I am very disappoint-...I...haha...!" she broke off, unable to continue as she doubled over with laughter. Dropping her spear and clutching her stomach, she roared laughter at the bemused expressions on the faces of the still half-asleep night guard.

"Whats goin' on out here, then?" came a voice from the stairs.

All heads turned towards the sound. Standing at the top of the stone steps was the Skipper of otters, paws on hips, surveying the scene. Vara instantly stopped laughing and snapped a salute to the otter.

"All guards accounted for, Skip!" she reported. "Seems to have been no trouble in the night. But, we will never know, since the night guard got a mite tired."

"Oh, really?" said Skipper. He sighed. "You're all dismissed. The morning guard is filtering in. Get some rest, if you need it."

The otters that had been standing (or rather, sleeping) guard picked up their weapons and made their way down to the Abbey grounds as more otter guards came for the morning shift. Skipper sighed once more as he watched them leave.

"I know that the likelihood of anything happening is small, but I really wish they would take their job seriously," he said. "Its the only job we otters have here."

"I'm sure some of you would be suited for other jobs here," said Vara as she inspected the tip of her spear. "Like cooking. You know how much some of us like your soup."

Skipper looked down at her with a withering expression. "Like the same couldn't be said for you, young missy."

Vara snapped her gaze up to meet his. "What?"

"We otters have long prided ourselves with being fair warriors. We have other talents, yes, but even the histories of Redwall have taught us that otters have always been more suited for protecting than anything else. That is why the otters are the wallguard now. But you," he said, patting Vara on the shoulder, "seem intent on doing the same."

Vara shrugged. "I don't mind being the only squirrel in a company of otters."

"That's not what I meant," he said, bending over to meet her eye-to-eye. "You know the Council disapproves of young ones like your self taking up a weapon."

Vara scoffed. "The Council? They can disapprove all they like. That bunch overblown old fogies can't do anything to me."

Skipper sighed and shook his head. "Ah, Vara. You're always so full of energy. Just don't do anything stupid, now. The council may be less than perfect, but they still make all the decisions 'round here."

* * *

At midday, a relief guard came to replace Vara, and she was off duty until the next morning. Descending the stone steps, she made her way slowly towards the gatehouse. It was somewhat warmer now, but the sun was still hidden behind the clouds, and a chilly wind curled its way through the Abbey. Few creatures lingered outside, wary of the clouds above.

"Oi, Vara!"

Vara looked up from her thoughts to see Skipper walking across the grounds, waving at her. She stopped.

"Yes?"

"It seems some o' my new ottermates don't know what it means to use a real sword. Do you think you can come over and help me?"

Vara smiled wickedly. Breaking in new blood was always enjoyable. "That sounds like fun. Maybe when I'm finished talking to Brother Matthew."

Skipper bounded off, calling over his shoulder. "See you, then!"

She skipped up to the door of the gatehouse with a big smile on her face and knocked loudly. There was instantly the rustle of several pages falling on the floor, several thumps, and a grunt of pain from within.

"Enter!" called a voice from inside.

Vara opened the door, and was instantly met with a wave of dust, that sent her coughing and sneezing.

"It's not _that_ bad," said Brother Matthew, the sole inhabitant of the gatehouse. "Even I can stand it."

"And how you do," retorted Vara as she regained the use of her breathing, "I'll never know. What were you doing, waiting to set a dust trap for me?"

The old mouse laughed a thin laugh. He was perhaps the oldest creature in Redwall, and such was readily visible about him. His bent back and visible limp were evidence of the many seasons he had seen. He rarely left the gatehouse, except for the larger feasts and the occasional Council meeting, and could almost always be found sitting in a large soft chair in front of the fire in the gatehouse.

"I was just beginning to organize the early histories when you knocked," he said, picking up a few stray pages. "But some are beginning to fall apart, as you can see." He carefully placed the pages back into different large tomes that were stacked on his desk.

Vara walked forward and regarded these massive writings with reverence. Lightly, she traced the ancient covers, carving dark paths through the years of dust that were layered on them. These were the old Redwall histories. _Mariel of Redwall. The Bellmaker. Triss. Loamhedge._ Each of these thick volumes narrated an era of the great Abbey. Glancing up on the shelves, she saw older ones, dating back even to before the conception and building of Redwall. And, at last, she laid eyes on the one she had read so many times, she might as well have memorized it: _Martin the Warrior._

"Well, I suppose you have a reason for coming here on this otherwise bright and wonderful day," said Brother Matthew, jarring her from her thoughts. She raised an eyebrow and glanced out the window, which displayed a picture very unlike bright and wonderful. Shrugging, she pulled the small journal out of her tunic and handed it to him.

"New entry for you, brother."

Matthew took the journal and settled into his soft chair. Whipping out glasses, he placed them gently upon his nose and began to read. Vara leaned casually against the desk, watching his eyes dart over the pages. He made no comment, except for the occasional soft "hm..." or "ah..." When at last he finished, he looked up at her over the rims of his glasses.

"Your writing is rather messy," he said accusingly. "How many times must I tell you that you need to practice?"

Vara rolled her eyes. "Is that all you can say to me? What about the dream I wrote? What do you think it means?"

"Don't roll your eyes at me, young Vara. Writing neatly is an important skill for anyone. _Especially,_" he added, "for a mouse at Redwall." He looked back down at the journal entry. "But as for this, well, I see nothing out of the ordinary. It appears to be a normal nightmare."

Vara sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Yeah, but..."

"But what, miss Vara?"

"I don't know. It just seemed a little too real. Like a memory."

"Ah."

Brother Matthew took a moment to read the entry once more. "So, what do you feel about this 'darkly robed creature?'"

Vara shrugged. "I don't know."

Brother Matthew sighed. Setting aside the journal, he leaned forward, and spoke hesitantly, "You know, Vara, when you first came here, I realize the Council must have told you things about me and my knowledge of the Redwall histories."

"They told me you knew nearly everything about Redwall and its past, and had memorized many of the stories recorded here in the gatehouse. And, that you would be able to help me regain my memories."

It was Matthew's turn to roll his eyes. "That Council, constantly dumps things like this into my lap."

Vara pulled a long face. "Awww, brother, am I a burden to you?"

"Oh, stop that. You know I care for you just as much as any other brother or sister her at Redwall. I'm merely saying that perhaps the Council...err..._embellished_ a few of my abilities somewhat."

"Embellished?" repeated Vara.

"Enrich. Falsify. Exaggerate."

"Are you saying they lied about you?"

"No, no," said Brother Matthew, waving a paw dismissively. "Merely that they stated I could do more than I really can. I do try to help you in the best way possible, but the fact is, I am quite at a loss. There are very few recordings of creatures who have lost their memories in these records." He indicated the shelves of books with a wave of his paw. "But for all the information I have, I simply cannot find a way to help you."

"When I told you about the dreams I was having, you told me to record them, because they would show me memories I had lost."

"When you told me about the dreams you were having, I told you to record them because they _might_ give you some insight as to what happened in your past," corrected Brother Matthew. "There is no certainty with dreams. Most of the time, dreams are merely random images our minds conjure during sleep. I even overheard today two of the otterguards talking. One of them was telling the other about a dream he had of a squirrel flying over the parapet. We cannot trust to much in our dreams."

Vara shook her head. "But they feel so real. More so than most dreams. And besides, what if they are something I am being shown, by something else?"

"If you are referring to the dreams that Martin occasionally sends certain creatures, then I think you'd best stray from that line of thinking. True, in the past, Martin has entered our dreams and warned us of coming dangers, but this is hardly such a time. As it is, there hasn't been a recorded dream of such sort in ages."

Vara looked down. "Well, what about that one story, the one about that mousemaid who turned up at Redwall, what was her name..." She thought for a moment. "Storm? Was that her name?"

Matthew thought for a moment. "Ah, you are thinking of Mariel, the young mousemaid who lost her memories." He leaned forward and tapped a tome on his desk, which read _Mariel of Redwall _across its cover.

"Yes, and they gave her some sort of potion, that put her to sleep. And then she remembered everything."

Once again, Brother Matthew waved dismissively. "The recipe for that potion was lost long ago during the Reformation. Don't even think about it. I've spent countless hours trying to find it. It is a useless search."

For a moment, the only sound in the room was that of Vara sighing.

"So," she continued after a short pause, "there's really nothing you can do?"

"My dear, I never said anything of the sort. Of course there are things I can do. I'm only telling you not to paint such a grand picture of me. I will help you as much as I can, but I do not have much hope in my own abilities."

Vara rubbed her temples. "So, what do we do now?"

"Well, we do what we have always done."

"You mean you'll still help me?"

"Of course!" Brother Matthew waved dismissively. "Just, don't have so much faith in me, Vara. I may be older and wiser, but there are things even I can't figure out."

"Right."

"Now, let us start back at the beginning. What do you remember, and do you remember any more after seeing this dream?"

Vara thought for a minute. "I remember being on a ship when I was very little."

"Hm."

"I was an oarslave."

Brother Matthew took out a journal of his own and flipped through several of its pages. "I have already written this down. But continue, see if you can remember any more."

"I remember it being very hard. As long as I could remember, I had been under the whip of the overseer. It was boring, tiring, and hopeless. I remember going through several partner slaves. It took two to row the oar, see, and often times slaves next to me would simply die. I was under that ship for many seasons."

"Mmhmm."

"And then, one day, there was a commotion above, on the decks. The overseer looked up with a strange look on his face, set aside his whip, and ran above. I remember there being several moments of loud yelling and what heard like swords clashing together. It sounded horrible."

"Go on."

"And then, all was quiet. Next to me, sat a small mouse. I recall that he was shaking uncontrollably with fear. We all heard pawsteps descending the stairs belowdecks, and thats when we saw the cloaked squirrel."

Brother Matthew looked up. "Squirrel?"

"Yes, squirrel."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am. I remember because, though his face was hidden under a hood, he had a long bushy tail protruding from the back of his cloak. Like mine." Vara patted her tail.

Brother Matthew began to laugh. Vara narrowed her eyes at him.

"What is so funny?"

He held up his journal. "I've been recording everything you've been able to remember since you came here about half a season ago. There's nothing in here about a squirrel in a cloak."

Vara grabbed the journal. Reading it through, she saw that there was indeed no mention in the recordings of her memories of a squirrel.

"What does this mean?" she asked.

"It means that you've remembered a little bit more today."

"Do you think it has anything to do with my dream? The dark cloaked figure that I saw?" Now, she was filled with hope. "Maybe that was the squirrel I saw on the ship?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not," said Brother Matthew, taking back his journal. "See if you can remember any more."

Vara thought for a moment, straining her mind to its limits. After a while, she shook her head. "That;s it. I remember up until that squirrel came down, and then its all a haze until those hares found me half a season ago washed up on the shore near Salamandastron. All I have are quick flashes of images. A cave, a fire, and fighting something with a sword. That's all I remember. I can't, for the life of me, figure out what I was doing all that time."

Brother Matthew nodded. "So there's about two, maybe three seasons of memories you can't seem to recall. It is good those hares took you here. This is the only place I can think of that can help you at all."

Vara nodded. "I'm glad I've got you, Brother Matthew."

"Oh, pah!" said Matthew, waving aside her compliments. "I'm just an old mouse who knows too much for his own good. Run along now, thats enough for today. I seem to recall Skipper wanting your help with something?"

Vara smiled. "I'll bring you some food when I'm done."

* * *

The sounds of clashing swords pervaded the air that mid afternoon, as Vara made her way to the Redwall grounds. It was in this wide open expanse of land that the ottercrew practiced their combat skills. As Skipper had said, there were a few new recruits fresh from the roving holts that roamed the forest of Mossflower. Vara smiled as she walked towards the circle of otters, who were all standing around and watching two creatures fight.

In the middle was Skipper, wielding a rapier in one hand and relentlessly attacking a smaller otter. It was obvious the other otter was unused to fighting in such a manner and was just barely able to turn aside the slashing and hacking attacks that Skipper threw at him. When at last Skipper had forced the otter to his knees, he disarmed him with a slight flick of his rapier.

"And that, my friends," he said breathlessly, "is how you wear down your opponent."

He smiled and offered his paw out to the young otter. "Come on, Bruen, up you go."

Bruen took the paw gratefully and stood, brushing himself off. Skipper looked up and smiled broadly when he saw Vara walking towards the group.

"Look alive, lads, 'ere comes a real warrior!"

Vara waved dismissively. "Enough with the big talk, Skip. I hate that. I'm just here 'cause you asked me to come. You said that you wanted a little help, well here I am."

Skipper threw a paw around her shoulders. "Everyone," he said, addressing the new recruits, "This is Vara, my second-in-command. She's here to help whip you all into shape."

She stepped forward and looked the young otter up and down. "Well, Bruen, is it? You're new around here aren't you?"

The otter nodded, unsure of how to act in front of her. "Uh, yeah. Just joined today."

Vara smiled wickedly and winked at Skipper.

"Well, Bruen, wanna have a little fun?"


	3. Vash

**A/N: Allllriiighhht! It's my next chapter! I have very little to say, except this: when I talk about accents, I assume most creatures in Redwall and Salamandastron speak with accents found in the United Kingdom. Mostly Britain and England. So when I talk about the creature who has a 'strange accent' I'm talking about an American accent. So, for those of you readers from America, you can say he speaks 'normally.' I don't think I'll be having any asian accents in this story. Nope. Sorry.**

**Arrgghhh! Hare names are so difficult to come up with. Anybody know a good way to come up with them? It's so hared...I mean, hard.  
**

* * *

CHAPTER TWO:

"Vash"

Far to the west of Mossflower Wood, on the western shores of Mossflower country, lay an immense and imposing mountain whose name is known throughout the land. Now a long-dead volcano, the mountain fortress of Salamandastron has stood as a symbol of the overwhelming power of good against evil.

The mountain is a sight to see, indeed. On either side of its massive body, winding switchback trails can be found, leading to various cave entrances that in turn lead in to the very heart of the mountain.

And for ages, it has housed the greatest of the badger lords.

* * *

Standing out on the outcropping leading to the main cave entrance, Second Lieutenant Darcy Hodgins wrapped his winter cloak tighter around his shoulders as the chilly morning wind whipped around the side of the mountain at a howling pace. Slumping against the staff of his spear, he shivered slightly. It was winter, alright. He looked up at the sky. Clouds had covered the sky as far as the eye could see. Yet, they had yielded not a single drop of rain or snow. It was a dry winter season this time around, he guessed. Hodgins wondered when it would snow. He loved the days of snow.

Though it was soft, his long ears picked up the light tapping of footpaws coming from the entrance behind him. He turned his head and, seeing who it was, immediately stood up straight and snapped a salute.

"Major Wilkins, sir!" he exclaimed.

"Relax, Hodgins," said the tall hare walking from the entrance. "This isn't an inspection or anything. Just came out to see what our weather was like today."

Major Wilkins, while tall and somewhat intimidating, was actually a kind commander.

"Dry and freezing, just like yesterday," answered the Lieutenant sadly.

"Ah, well. Let's hope Cooky makes us some nice hot soup tonight, eh wot?"

The two passed light banter for a few minutes, until the Major leaned over Hodgins' shoulder, squinting.

"Eh? Wot's that?"

Hodgins to squinted and looked off into the distance. After a few moments of searching, he saw what the Major was looking at. Far off on the horizon, was what looked like a small speck on the long expanse of sand. A longer inspection revealed that it was some sort of creature walking along the beach, towards the mountain.

"It looks like somebeast's coming this way," said Lieutenant Hodgins. "Wonder who it is?"

The two stood, waiting and watching, as the figure drew nearer. Far out to the west, the sun rose above the sea. Silent and waiting, the hares squinted at the speck, until at last it was discernible.

"It's a squirrel," said Hodgins. "I can see its tail."

"Good eyes, Lieutenant. You're right. Flippin strange color, though."

Hodgins nodded. He could see the creature's bushy tail, all right. And it certainly _was_ strange. It was all black; no trace of any other color. The squirrel itself was wrapped in a tattered and torn traveler's cloak that matched color with its fur. It's dark hood was pulled over its face.

The two hares waited longer as the squirrel reached the foot of the mountain. It paused and looked up at the side of the mountain, then continued up the switchback path that led to the entrance. A few minutes later, the patter of its footsteps could be heard as it reached the top of the ledge. Major Wilkins stood straight next to Hodgins as the squirrel made its way to the entrance. The squirrel stood about two heads shorter than the Lieutenant, but it seemed to move with great purpose, as though there was little that could stand in its way. Strapped across its back, the hares could see a large sword wrapped in a thick cloth. The squirrel walked up to the two, and stopped, seeming to eye them from beneath its hood. It was impossible to tell, though, since its fur and cloak were the same color. It was hard to see where robes ended and fur began. Hodgins felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. This new arrival was somewhat, well, creepy.

"Halt, squirrel," called Major Wilkins. "Are you friend or foe?" Wilkins seemed a little disconcerted as well.

"Neither, I suppose."

Reaching up, the squirrel removed the hood to reveal the jet black face of a young male squirrel, whose eyes were (if at all possible) blacker than its fur, and seemed to pierce one's soul with their gaze.

"The hares of the long patrol, I presume?" he asked. His voice matched his appearance; the voice of a young squirrel. It was laced with a strange foreign accent, however. "Good. Finally, I am here." He smiled and looked up towards the peak of Salamandastron, which was a long way up.

"Wh-what do you mean 'neither?'" asked Hodgins, standing up straighter as the squirrel whipped his head around to look at him.

"I mean," said he, cocking his head, "that while I am not here to conquer, neither am I here to defend. I am neutral. Of course, that may change, depending on certain events in the near future."

The two hares traded glances, somewhat amused by the strange squirrel.

"I have business with the Lord of this mountain. Questions, and perhaps answers. I would be grateful if I could speak to him."

"I," said Wilkins, "am Major Wilkins of the Long patrol. Any information can be given to me, and I will relay it to the badgerlord."

"I wish to speak with the lord directly," said the squirrel. "There are many things to discuss, and if I must wait, that is fine. I have time. All the time in the world."

Raising his eyebrows, Wilkins answered, "Well, I suppose its all right. I'll notify Lord Sharpeye of your arrival. Lieutenant Hodgins will show you in."

The squirrel smiled and nodded.

Hodgins, his fear of the new arrival dispelled (and his curiosity heightened), said, "Right this way, Mister...er..."

"Vash," finished the squirrel. "Vash will do."

"Right."

Hodgins led him through the mouth of the cave into the inner chambers of the mountain. After navigating a few short corridors, he showed Vash into the common area, a place where many hares sat lounging about, conversing or playing games. There were many places to sit and lie down here, and a large fireplace adorned one wall. At one end of the room was a door, through which could be seen the dining area, and at the other end a long stone staircase leading up into the upper areas of the inner mountain. The squirrel drew stares from many of the hares sitting about.

"You can wait here until the Major comes back. He'll show you to the badgerlord," Hodgins said.

Vash nodded. "Thank you."

He sat down in one of the many chairs near the fireplace and rested his head in his left paw. Looking off into the distance, he seemed to become lost in thought.

After a moment, all the hares that had been staring resumed their conversations and games.

* * *

Major Wilkins rapped purposefully on the door to the badgerlord's private chambers.

"Come in," boomed a voice from within.

Wilkins shoved the door inward and strode in to see badgerlord Sharpeye seated at his desk, behind mountains of reports. The mess of paper that littered not only his desk but also his floor was impressive. But even more impressive was the badgerlord himself. He was a great and massive creature, and all hares of the Long Patrol knew what a fearless fighter he was.

"Milord, you are buried in your information reports again?" asked Wilkins. "We are not even in a war. This is peacetime."

"It's like I always say," said Lord Sharpeye.

"Yes, yes, milord. 'You can never have enough information.'"

"Too right. Now, what was it you wanted?"

"Of course." The Major cleared his throat. "There seems to be a squirrel who wishes to speak to you. I believe he said something about 'questions and perhaps answers.' He's a strange one, fur as black as can be. He insists to speak with you directly, milord."

"Oh? A black squirrel? Very well, send him in."

"Of course, milord."

Wilkins exited and closed the door. Sharpeye listened as the sound of his footpaws receded down the stairs. Minutes later, there was the sound of two pairs of footpaws tapping up the staircase. The doors opened once more, and Major Wilkins ushered in the squirrel.

"You're dismissed, Wilkins," said Sharpeye. "Go enjoy breakfast with the other hares. I will speak to him in private."

"Yes, Lord Sharpeye."

Wilkins saluted and left.

Sharpeye looked the squirrel up and down, as the squirrel looked him up and down. The young squirrel was of a small build; he was short and scrawny. But the look in his eyes denoted a fighting spirit. The two measured each other in silence for a moment. Then, Sharpeye indicated with a wave of his paw one of the chairs across from his desk.

"Please, sit down. I'm Lord Sharpeye, the badgerlord of Salamandastron. I apologize for the mess, I'm sorting through intelligence reports right now. And you are?"

"Vash," answered the squirrel, weaving his way through the stacks of paper that littered the floor. "Vash will do."

"Ah. Major Wilkins told me you had some questions you needed to ask me directly. I must admit I'm a little intrigued. It is rare to see squirrels of your, ah, color. That coupled with your accent indicates you are from a land far across the sea, am I right?"

The squirrel smiled as he sat down. "I suppose so, yes. But I'm not here to talk about colors and accents. I have questions. And you have answers." He removed the cloth-wrapped sword from his back and set it down.

Sharpeye was taken aback by his direct and blunt assertion. "I see. What makes you say that?"

Vash looked around at all the paper that lay about the room. "Badgerlord Sharpeye," he said. "Some call you 'Sharpeye the Wise,' or 'Sharpeye the Knowing.' There is much you know about Mossflower country and its surroundings. And there is little you do not know." The squirrel leaned forward and placed his head in his paws and his elbows on the desk. "You have created the largest network of spies and information gatherers that anybeast ever has to date. So, when the time came that I required information, who would be the first I would turn to? You, of course. One of the greatest badgerlords."

Sharpeye waved his paw dismissively. "You flatter me. I am not nearly as great as the badgerlords before me."

"'True humility is the low but deep and firm foundation of all virtues,'" said Vash. He sounded like he was quoting from a book. "'and blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.'"

The badgerlord cocked his head to the side. "Those are wise-sounding words, coming from a young squirrel like yourself."

Vash smiled. "Not really. I was just saying something I read somewhere. Hardly 'wise' or 'intelligent.' I do that a lot. But we are getting off track. I came with questions and the hope for answers."

"Of course."

Vash sat back in his chair. "A couple months ago, I battled a crew of searats out in the western seas." He nodded out the window, which bore a view down across the western beach of Mossflower Country. "Sadly, because they were so intent on killing me, I had to do away with all of them before I could pump them for information."

"Information? What sort of information?"

Vash rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose starting at the beginning would make the most sense. Very well. It is something like this: I had been sailing about when I spotted a ship that bore a strange flag."

"Strange flag?"

"Yes. Upon it was a symbol; an eye, with a single downward curving eyebrow and what looked like two curling legs protruding beneath it." Vash leaned forward, grabbed a quill and parchment, and drew the sign for the badgerlord. "It was a sign I had seen before, in a faraway land; a sign that searats and corsairs of these waters should not know. So, I decided to try and capture one of the crew and get some answers from him." He sighed ruefully. "But, I made a mistake and was caught sneaking aboard. Unfortunately, I had to kill all of them. Hardly a graceful move on my part." He shook his head sadly. "How embarrassing."

Lord Sharpeye raised an eyebrow. "You took on an entire corsair crew by yourself?"

Vash waved a paw dismissively. "No, of course not. Once I had fought through the brunt of them, I freed the oarslaves down belowdecks. And they were too happy to help."

"Still, though," said Sharpeye, apparently impressed.

"But going back to my question..."

"Of course."

Vash tapped the piece of the paper with the sign on it. "Do you have any idea what this sign represents?"

The badgerlord thought for a moment. "I thought you said you'd seen this sign before?"

"I have."

"And you don't know what it means?"

"The origin of this sign is a land farther away from here than you can imagine. It is difficult to think that its meaning is the same here than there. In short, it is a symbol that nobeast around here should know about, unless there is sombeast who has traveled as far as me _and I highly doubt that._"

The badgerlord looked confused for a moment, but sighted and said, "Very well, I'll take your word for it."

Sharpeye thought for a moment.

"You know," he remarked, "I do believe I _have_ seen this sign before. If you will just wait a moment, I will see if I can find it."

He stood up from the desk and began rooting around in the large bookcase behind him, which was filled with shelf upon shelf of what looked like journals. Vash could see, each time the badgerlord opened one, that they were filled with the badger's own handwriting. These must be all the information reports dating back season after season. He whistled in admiration.

"That's quite a lot of intel you've got there."

"Intel?" repeated the badger, not looking up from his reading.

"Sorry, local term from my homeland. Means 'information' and 'intelligence reports.'"

"Speaking of which, and I don't mean to pry, but may I ask where exactly you are from?"

The squirrel produced from his robes a long, thin pipe. "Another place, far away from here."

"Across the western sea?"

"Yeah. You could say that, I guess."

Vash filled the bowl of his pipe with some dried leaves he produced also from his dark robes. Lighting the pipe from one of the candles on the badgerlord's desk, he drew a long breath from it, and exhaled a large cloud of smoke. Instantly, the room was filled with an otherworldly scent.

Sharpeye was about to comment on how young Vash was, and that smoking a pipe was rare for such an age, but he stopped himself. Perhaps customs were different in the black squirrel's home.

Moments later, he found at last what he was looking for.

"Ah, here it is."

He turned around and placed an open book in front of Vash. On one page was a drawing of an eye identical to the one Vash had sketched. The badgerlord picked up the book and began reading it.

"Let's see," he began. "This symbol was found on the breastplate of a set of searat armor. The owner was found washed up on the shore half-dead."

Vash held up a paw. "Wait, a set of searat armor? That's strange. You don't normally see searats in full armor. I never have, at least."

"Yes, that was certainly strange. But there's more: when questioned about the odd symbol stamped into the plate, the searat would only say that it was called the 'all-knowing eye.' We were unable to get any more information from that searat, as he died hours after we found him."

Vash sat back and absently tapped the business end of his pipe on his arm. "Hmmm. 'The all knowing eye,' huh?" he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder what that means."

"There's still more."

"Oh?" Vash leaned forward again. "Tell me."

"About two seasons ago, we were attacked by a large fleet of corsair ships in a very well coordinated siege. That in itself was odd. It is rare for pirates to be so well organized. They attacked as though they had carefully thought out each movement of the battle beforehand. It was a hard fight, to be honest. We fought them for two weeks, and finally drove them off. We managed to catch a few prisoners. Each and every one of them also wore full metal armor. Each breastplate was stamped with that same eye symbol. From them, we got more information."

He paused.

"Ah, wait, I have that filed elsewhere."

He began shuffling through papers on his desk. Vash absently fiddled with his sword. The badgerlord looked up.

"So, you favor swords, I see," he said, an attempt at light talk.

"No, I don't really like swords," said Vash, not taking his eyes off the blade wrapped in cloth. "I prefer faster weapons. Knives, bows, short blades and the like."

"Is that a keepsake?" said Sharpeye, flipping through another of his journals.

"Sort of. A old friend of mine crafted it for another old friend of mine. Both are long passed now, and it fell in to my hands. I'm just waiting for the right creature to pass it off on. I wouldn't use a weapon like it. It's really nice sword, though."

"Like the Sword of Martin?" asked the badgerlord jokingly.

Vash drew a long pull from his pipe and blew a jet of smoke out the side of his mouth, smiling mysteriously.

"Yeah, you could say that."

And once again, the room was filled with strange otherworldy scent of that smoke.

The badgerlord went back to flipping through journals. This squirrel was certainly an odd one, he thought. And not just in color and dress. Minutes passed as Lord Sharpeye searched for the elusive information. When at last the leaves in Vash's pipe had burnt away, the squirrel tucked it into his tattered black robes and resumed playing absently with his sword.

Presently, the badgerlord spoke.

"Ah," he said, "here it is."

Vash leaned forward to listen attentively.

"The information we gathered from the prisoners is written here," Sharpeye began. "It seems that all the vermin bearing the mark of the all-knowing eye were part of a larger group. They referred to themselves as 'Remnants.'"

"Remnants? Of what?" asked Vash.

"The seemed to believe that sometime in the past, vermin had ruled the world. That, by nature, vermin are superior to all others."

Vash frowned. "Strange happenings become stranger."

"Indeed. They were utterly convinced that the woodlanders, mice, moles and badgers and the like had banded together with the highlanders and other non-vermin in the past and destroyed the great society of vermin. But it gets even more bizarre. The ringleader of the small searat group talked of how the Remnants would turn the balance of the world back into the hands of the vermin. And how their crusade against all non-vermin, or what he called 'infidels,' would earn them a special place in what he told us was the 'resplendent heart of the Dark Forest.' And because of this, none of them feared death, but welcomed it." The badgerlord looked up at Vash. "We were completely taken aback; speechless. Never before had we heard such deranged ramblings."

Vash nodded. "It certainly seems strange. Uncomfortably so."

Sharpeye looked back down at his writing. "Apparently, they had some sort of leader as well. A dark figure in the background, commanding them. Supposedly, this great commander was gathering all the vermin of the world, and joining them together as Remnants. At least, that was what we were told. The eye mark that they bore on their breastplates was supposed to represent the all-knowing eyes of their leader, Horo the Sage Wolf."

There was a loud sound that startled the badger as Vash stood up quickly and violently, slamming his paws down on the desk.

"What was that name!" Vash nearly yelled.

"What?" Sharpeye looked down. "They had a leader who they called 'Horo the Sage Wolf.' Another name they gave was-"

"Horo the Wise," finished Vash. He sat down, frowning darkly, as though in deep thought.

"How- how did you know that?" asked the badgerlord. "What do you know about him?"

"Her," corrected Vash. "Horo is a she-wolf. But this is impossible."

"What? What is impossible?"

Vash furrowed his brow. "Because Horo is a wolf who should not exist. She cannot exist. It is impossible."

The badgerlord read over his writing again. "But the searats were utterly convinced she was real. That she was commanding them!"

"And that is why I am troubled," said Vash, standing up. "I must go. I thank you for all the help you have given me."

Picking up his sword, he quickly made his way to the door.

"I.. wait!" cried Lord Sharpeye, still utterly bewildered from what had just happened. "What do you know about this Horo? And what does this mean?"

Vash stopped and turned his head slightly. "I know only that this the most horrifying thing that has ever reached my ears, and I must stop it," Vash said over his shoulder. "I'm going to fix this. I'm going to fix all of it. Right the Wrongs." His black paws clenched tightly. "Goodbye, milord. I hope we do not meet again. Because if we do, it will mean I have failed, and this world is in more peril than you could ever imagine. Pray that does not happen."

He turned to look Lord Sharpeye directly in the eyes.

"Pray," he repeated.

Then, without another word, he turned and bolted out the door of the badgerlord's private chambers, nearly knocking Wilkins over, who was about to walk in.

Wilkins entered the room, looking back out the door.

"What was all that about, milord?" he asked.

Lord Sharpeye narrowed his eyes and answered with another question. "Major, where's my favorite spy?"

"You mean Slip? Last I heard, he was here in Mossflower country."

"Send a runner down to him, then," said Lord Sharpeye. "Tell him to find out anything he can about a black colored squirrel named Vash. Tell him to even snoop about that cursed Abbey if he has to."

Wilkins raised an eyebrow, but did not question the order. "Right away, Lord Sharpeye."

* * *

Hodgins stood on the outcropping outside the cave entrance, this time accompanied by one of the young leverets, who had come outside to look out at the sky.

There was a great rush of wind as the black squirrel dashed past him, and jumped down the side of the mountain. In one fluid motion, the squirrel whipped a short blade from his robes, and jammed it into the rock face of the mountain, using it to slow his fall as he took the quick way down the mountain side. In moments, he reached the sand of the beach and tore off into the distance at a pace that would stagger any Long patrol runner, leaving behind two rather bemused hares.

"My, he's right fast enough, eh wot!" exclaimed the leveret.

**

* * *

A/N: for a picture of the all-knowing eye symbol, refer to my avatar picture on my profile.**


	4. Slip

**A/N: Well, look who's decided to crawl out of his hole...**

**Yes, it has been over a year since my last update and many things have happened since then. I've written and rewritten this story in my head, come up with new ideas, and (most importantly) gotten my life in order. I needed that year break to sort stuff out. But I'm back now!**

**...**

**Aaaaaand, all the people who WERE reading this are probably long gone now. Oh well.**

**But I'm back! Did I say that already? I've been getting so many PMs and emails from angry fanfictioners who threaten to beat me up if I don't update. I'm sorry! But rest assured, at the present moment I fully intend to finish this story, the other stories I'm currently working on, and any subsequent stories that may be born hereafter. As always, read and review please. This chapter was fun to write!  
**

* * *

CHAPTER THREE:

"Slip"

_Thwack!_

Bruen's paws went numb as he blocked an incoming blow with his staff. The shock went all the way up his arms and jolted his shoulders, sending him staggering backwards. After a few seconds of flailing around, he regained his balance and resumed a determined battle stance. Though the surprise was quite apparent on his face.

"Didn't expect quite a blow, didja?" asked Skipper, who was standing to the side and watching.

Bruen faced the creature who had just landed that spectacular hit and sighed. She was a small squirrel, who stood about a head shorter than he.

"That's somethin' important ta understand," continued Skipper. "Never underestimate a creature based on size. Vara here hits harder than ya'd think. And if that little blow there smarts yer paws, just wait 'til ya fight an otter!"

"Right," muttered Bruen through clenched teeth. The pain and shock was beginning to fade.

The two of them each held a wooden weapon, Vara's a short stick to Bruen's staff. They were standing out in the Abbey lawns midst groups of other otters, who were all sparring. Though as soon as Bruen was paired with Vara, it seemed all the other groups slowed their practicing, watching the two out of the corners of their eyes.

"Again!" shouted Skipper. Then he added, "But Vara, try not to hit so hard this time. This is a training exercise, not duel to the death."

"Right-o Skipper," said Bruen's sparring partner. Bruen lowered his stance warily, readying himself.

He was, for all intents and purposes, rather nervous. Here he was, first day of rigorous training, and already the Skipper had paired him with the second-in-command. His grip tightened on the staff. She'd asked him if he wanted to have fun. He didn't really know if breaking in new recruits was fun for her, but it was most definitely not for him.

The two circled each other. Bruen could not stop staring into Vara's eyes. Hers were dancing around, flicking from one side to the other, and up and down. It was almost mesmerizing. All of a sudden, with out a sound or even the slightest bit of warning, she lunged forward with her short staff outstretched. Reacting quickly, much quicker than before, Bruen dodged to the side and swept his staff outwards to catch her as she moved past him. Again he felt the familiar jolt as his weapon hit hers. She rolled sideways, away from him, and jumped back to her feet to resume her attack.

Blow after blow she rained upon him, though to his credit he manged to block a good number of them. It was a few minutes later that Skipper whistled loudly, signaling them to stop. By that time, there were several bruises riddling Bruen's sides. He rubbed them ruefully.

Skipper chucked. "Nothin' hurt too badly, I hope! I think that's enough fer today." He nodded at Vara. "It's always good ta have Vara here have the first fight with the new 'uns. It helps put things in perspective! I hope you've learned a valuable lesson today."

Bruen nodded. "Never underestimate your enemy."

"Heh, heh. Vara! Got anythin' ta tell the recruit? Pointers?"

Vara looked up at Bruen. It was strange; she was so small, yet her eyes burned with a determined fire. "You were looking at my eyes. Why?"

"Well, I..." Bruen thought for a moment. "They were just moving around so quickly. It was distracting."

"Do you know what I was doing?" she asked. "I was looking. Looking at everything. The way you held your weapon, which foot you tended to step with first, where you were looking, what was around you, everything. Do you know why?"

Bruen rubbed the back of his neck. "I dunno. To plan, I guess?"

"That's about right." She nodded. "When you're fighting, you have to take in all your surroundings. Look at everything. Have your eyes moving constantly. Look for escape routes, weaknesses in your opponent, objects around you that you can throw or that the enemy will throw, things like that."

"O-okay."

Vara grinned. Reaching up, she clapped him on the back much harder then he would have expected. "And loosen up. This is fun!"

Bruen doubted that.

* * *

The sun would have begun to slip behind the towering stone walls of the inner Abbey, save for the dark clouds that covered the sky, when the training practice ceased and those not on shift went inside. It had begun to grow cold, and the nightly wallguard had donned thicker coats than usual.

Bruen stood on the western wall just above the main gate and stared out across the tops of the trees of Mossflower Wood. Shivering slightly, he wrapped his coat tighter around his body in a failed attempt to ward off the growing cold. He squinted up at the clouds and cursed silently. The overbearing weather blotted out all sources of light in the sky. When full nighttime came, there would be no moon. The clouds didn't even have the decency to snow, they simply floated high above, mocking the creatures below.

Bruen clutched his spear and leaned back against the inner parapet and tried not to focus on how cold it was. Around him, guards were doing the same, some of them even allowing their eyes to droop and their heads to loll downwards. Bruen could hardly believe how they could be so tired already. He certainly wasn't tired. Sighing, he let it go. As long as one guard was awake, that must be enough. Redwall had seen peace for many years.

It would have been just after sundown, had there been a sun, when Bruen caught a glimpse of movement coming down the path that ran south past Redwall. Not far off, a creature was making its way down the dirt trail. He nudged one of the guards next to him, who immediately snorted and woke up.

"Wot? Wot d' ye want?"

Bruen pointed at the figure in the distance. "Who do you suppose that is?"

"I dunno," that guard said, yawning. "Prob'ly a messenger or sumthin'. Let 'im in if he needs it. It's mighty cold out 'ere."

The guard's head immediately sank back to his chest and the sounds of his snoring resumed. Bruen rolled his eyes and stepped forward to the outer parapet, leaning over the wall to get a better look. As the creature trudged closer, he saw that it was a lone rat, dressed in a thick traveling cloak. The hood was up and Bruen couldn't really see its face, but he guessed it was a rat from its size and the tail protruding from the back of its cloak.

When the figure drew near to the gate, it stopped and removed its hood. Now Bruen could properly see his face. The rat put paw to mouth and called up at him.

"Hello, up there! Hello! I'm from Salamandastron, and I have business with the Abbot here!" His accent was strange; it sounded almost exactly like that of a hare of the great mountain. Without the 'ballys' and the 'wots,' though. "If you could open the gates, that would be quite nice. It's right cold out here, eh?"

Bruen waved from atop the walls and immediately turned to call to the guards down by the gate. At his command, the great wooden doors were parted to let the rat in. The guard next to him, stirred by the raised voices, mumbled to the otter.

"Why don' ye escort him in. 'S yer turn."

Bruen didn't exactly know what that meant, but the otter was of a higher rank than him, so he took it as an order. Descending the stone steps to his right, he made his way down to the main gate. The two guards on duty there were just closing the doors behind the rat when Bruen reached the bottom. He greeted the rat with a nod of his head.

"I'll lead you to the Abbot, then."

The rat waved him off. "That wont be necessary. I know my way 'round here. I've been here enough times."

Bruen looked to the other guards for confirmation and they nodded.

"'S alright," one of them said. "'S just Slip 'ere. He's all right."

"Right, be seeing you, then!" Slip bowed his head slightly in a friendly manner and was on his way.

Bruen watched the rat walk off in to the main Abbey building and scratched his head. He didn't know who this "Slip" was but if the other guards told him it was fine, then it was fine. He didn't want to question. He was still new.

* * *

Holding two rather large trays, one in each paw, Vara slowly made her way towards the gatehouse. Upon each tray, which were balanced precariously, sat several plates of food and a flasks of some of the finest strawberry cordial. Vara mentally reminded herself to thank Cellarmaster Shunt for the cordial. It was an almost nightly ritual she took, delivering food to Brother Matthew. Often, as was the case tonight, she would take her food out to the gatehouse as well and eat her supper with the aging recorder. As she walked across the lawns she passed a heavily dressed rat who, with only the slightest pause, greeted her with a friendly smile and wave and resumed his lone walk to the main Abbey. For a moment Vara wondered who he was and what purpose he had at the Abbey at this hour, but those thoughts were brushed aside as one of the flasks shifted suddenly, and she had to compensate the balance by weaving side to side quickly.

When she reached the gatehouse, she rapped upon the old wooden door with her footpaws until Brother Matthew opened the door to let her in.

"Hey there, Brother! I promised I'd bring you dinner, right?"

Matthew chuckled and relieved her of one of her trays, setting it on the table. "Ah, too kind, too kind, miss Vara."

"You say that every night," she said with a smile.

* * *

The Cavern Hole was mostly empty that night. The Redwallers were taking their last meal of the day in the Great Hall above. The fireplace had been lit and three chairs were positioned in front of it. In one sat Abbot Magnus, and across from him was the Skipper of otters. The two had taken their nightly meals down to the Cavern Hole, away from the bustle and noise of the upper rooms. Though Skipper was the only one eating; Magnus had barely touched his food. Instead the old Abbot was staring into the flames of the fireplace, a brooding look upon his face.

Chewing quietly, Skipper looked across to the Abbot. Skipper had known Magnus as long as he could remember. Magnus was the oldest creature in the Abbey, with perhaps the exception of Brother Matthew. And although he had been born after the Reformation, Skipper had heard stories in his youth about the Abbot, and how he had changed. How different he had become after that fateful season. Father Magnus, as he had been told, had become Abbot at a very early age. That was over a generation before Skipper had been born, and many seasons before the Reformation. The elders during Skipper's childhood had spoken of how bright and energetic the young mouse had been during his first few years as Father Abbot.

Then something had changed, they whispered. It was always whispering. Nobeast wanted to say it loudly, lest the Abbot hear. He has changed. For better? For worse? None knew. But he is different now. Darker.

Skipper was about to lift another fork laden with salad to his mouth when the Abbot spoke, breaking the silence that had been filled only with the crackling of the fire.

"What is it, Skipper?" he asked

Skipper lowered his fork. "What, Father?"

"You've been staring at me for nearly a quarter of an hour now. What are you thinking about?"

Skipper prodded his food absently. He was unsure of how to answer the Abbot. Magnus disliked talking about the past. About his earlier years. "I was jus' thinkin' about that look you were givin' the fire."

Magnus met Skipper's gaze. "What look?"

"I dunno. Pensive, I guess. Like sumthin's on yer mind."

"Oh, I see. I was just thinking. About how things are now. About where things may go in the future."

Skipper nodded, not really knowing how to reply, and took another mouthful of his salad. The two sat in silence for a few moments before the Abbot broke the silence once more.

"How are things proceeding with the wallguard? Smoothly?"

"Aye," replied Skipper. "All's calm on th' front. Th' new recruits are shapin' up nicely. Vara's makin' sure of that!" Skipper chuckled at this last bit, but stopped off when he saw a dark look cross the Abbot's face.

"I she still insistent on that position?" he asked.

Skipper rubbed the back of his neck, regretting mentioning the squirrelmaid. "Aye, that she is. I won't argue with that 'un, though. She's tough, tougher 'n most-a my own."

"You know very well my opinions on the matter," said Magnus, frowning, "The position of guard and warrior are reserved for otters and larger beasts. It is against the Abbey way that we put creatures in undue harm. Bad enough that a squirrel be given such a position. Worse that it is a female."

"Well now," said Skipper replied, trying to placate the Abbot. "It's her choice. It's not like we're puttin' her up to it. She chose it herself. An' when all's said 'n done, there's nobeast else I'd rather have watchin' my back than her."

"I know, Skipper, I know." The Abbot sighed. "It just goes against my grain, the status quo has been broken."

Skipper didn't quite know what that meant, but he was sure it meant the Abbot was unhappy.

Their conversation was interrupted then by the creaking of the Cavern Hole doors. The two leaned forward in their chairs to see who had entered, and saw Slip the rat close the doors behind himself.

"Slip, ye rogue, what brings ya here?" Skipper but his plate down on the table next to his chair and rose to clap the young rat on the back.

"Official business," replied the rat.

Skipper seated the rat in the third chair by the fire and sat himself back in his own chair. He offered some of his side dishes to the rat, which were politely declined with the wave of a paw.

"And what is this 'official business' of yours?" asked the Abbot.

Slip sank back in his chair and rested his chin on one of his paws. "I was given another job. I'm here at the request of Lord Sharpeye."

At this, Abbot Magnus frowned deeply, but Slip chose to ignore this and instead continued.

"My mission here is little more than light information gathering. Let me explain. A few nights ago, a rather strange squirrel came to the mountain requesting an audience with the badgerlord. He was very mysterious and secretive, spouting lots of strange and unfathomable gibberish. Apparently, he has piqued Sharpeye's interest and now it has fallen to me, by his request, to find out more about this particular squirrel. I was instructed to ask around here. The squirrel, black in color, has given his name as Vash and travels with..." He trailed off, now unable to ignore the growing dark look in the Abbot's face. Smiling, he clapped his paws together and said, "I guess from that look on your face you _do_ know of him."

"Yes, I do. That miscreant passed through here last winter."

"Well, do tell," said Slip, leaning forward.

"It was a year ago," said the Abbot, fuming, "He came through here and tried to disrupt our Abbey. Said our current charter was 'all wrong,' and that I was something of a fraud. He left soon after, but not before he stole one of our most prized possessions."

"And what was that?"

Abbot Magnus pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Sword of Martin."

Slip leaned back once more and brought his paws together under his snout, thinking. "Interesting." He stared off into space for a moment, then asked, "And do you know where he went?"

"No, and good riddance."

"You didn't even think to look for him? He stole one of the Abbey's greatest artifacts, and you didn't even chase him?"

"It would have been futile. Besides, our Abbey will get on fine anyway. The loss of a single sword means nothing against the hearts of the Redwallers. We can go on without it."

Slip raised an eyebrow. Though he said nothing, it was clear he was thinking about what the Abbot had said.

"Is there anything else?" he asked.

"Not that I can remember," said Abbot Magnus.

"Well then I must take my leave. I have much work ahead of me." Slip stood and made his way towards the door.

"Woah there, Slip!" exclaimed Skipper. "Aren't ya gonna stay fer some supper?"

"I may grab a roll or two before I leave, but I really must get going. Sharpeye will be expecting my report as soon as possible. I bid you farewell and goodnight."

* * *

Bruen did not see Slip walk to the gates, but he heard the loud creaking as the massive doors parted to let the rat out and watched as he made his way down the path, back the way he had come. Bruen gave the path a once over and then resumed looking over the tops of the trees. Surely nothing else interesting was going to happen this night.

Had the otter stayed his gaze but a second longer, he would have seen the dark patch of black detatch itself from a tree near the trail, and move to follow the rat into the distance.

* * *

"There you are. I've been looking for you."

Slip whirled around to see who had spoken out. Here he was, not minutes away from the Abbey, and already somebeast had met up with him. He turned to find a black cloaked creature standing behind him on the path.

"Who are you?" he asked. His paw strayed under his thick coat to find the daggers hidden there, just within reach if need be.

"It's me," said the squirrel, holding up his paws to show he had no weapons. He removed his hood to reveal the black-furred head beneath.

"Oh, its you, Vash," said Slip.

"We need to talk. Come on, let's leave this path a ways." Vash motioned for Slip to follow, and stepped off the path into the dark woods beyond.

After walking for a few minutes, Vash stopped midst a thick row of trees. Leaning back against one of them, he lit a pipe he drew from his robes and let it hang from the side of his mouth. He folded his arms and jauntily put all his weight on the tree, striking the pose of one who has all the time in the world.

"What do you want?" asked Slip. He sat down on a protruding tree root and put his head back against the trunk. But before he let Vash answer, he added, "You know, Sharpeye has sent some of his best agents, including me, out to find you."

Vash exhaled a long breath, hiding his face in smoke for a moment. Not that this was difficult; his fur blended in nicely with the dark surroundings.

"Yeah, I know." Vash withdrew the pipe from his mouth for a moment and tapped the end on his chin. "I think its time I called in that favor you owe me. I need your help."

Slip sighed. "Vash, I already covered for you once. I told the badgerlord yesterday when he requested that I do this mission that I didn't know anything about you. I didn't tell him that I knew you, or what you did in the past. But I cannot lie forever. Sharpeye is sharp, so to speak."

Vash raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked, as though he didn't understand. Then he laughed a raucous laugh. "Oh, please. Pffft...Sharpeye... I couldn't care less what you tell that nosy badger. Tell him whatever you want! He won't know anymore than I want him to know. Nobeast will."

"Well then what was the favor you had in mind?"

Vash nodded in the direction they had come from, towards the Abbey. "In that Abbey, there is a squirrelmaid who is important to me. Her name is Vara, and she is no doubt making quite a stir up there. You'll know her instantly; small, but ferocious. And quite the expert with a sword too."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Slip.

"I want you to watch her. And make sure she does not stray from the path I have given her."

"And what's that?"

"A good path."

"You're not making any sense," Slip said, sighing once more. He rubbed his temples

"Do I ever?"

Slip was sure he had some sort of snappy retort to that, but if he did, he certainly couldn't remember it.

"So that's it?" he asked, "I just have to watch her and make sure she stays good or something? And then my debt is paid?"

"You will watch her, and ensure that she stays on the path to righteousness. You do that until her care is placed back into my paws, and your debt will be repaid."

Slip narrowed his eyes. "There must be more to it than this. It can't be so simple. It's never simple with you."

"If she strays from her own goodness, then she will die. You owe me your life, so in return, protect the life of my ward."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Do I ever?"

Slip pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted in annoyance. "You are insufferably vague, you know that?"

Vash giggled, smoke coming out of his nose and mouth in puffs. "And you think too much. Just do it, and you will have repaid me for saving your life."

"I will."

The sat in silence for a moment longer, Slip pondering the meaning behind the squirrel's words, and Vash finishing the dregs of his pipe. It was Slip that broke the silence.

"So is that what I think it is?" Slip indicated the sword strapped across Vash's back with a nod.

Vash emptied the now extinguished pipe bowl and tucked the wooden instrument back into his cloak. "That depends entirely on what you think it is."

"That's the sword of Martin, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Slip pursed his lips. "Why did you steal it? You don't strike me as the type to believe in all that mystic hogwash surrounding the legends of the sword."

"Oh, believe me, the legends are true."

Slip doubted that.

"But I did not steal this sword for myself," continued Vash. "I stole it because _they_ don't need it. It serves no purpose to them anymore. It belongs in the hands of the more deserving. In the hands of a proper warrior."

"And who's that?"

"I don't know yet."

Slip chuckled. "That's the first time I've ever heard you admit to not knowing something."

"My dear, dear Slip, there are many things I do not know. But I still know a lot more than you and that badgerlord do. Sharpeye knows this, that's why he's sent you after me. But I don't mind. I couldn't care less, in fact."

Vash stood up straight and wrapped his cloak tighter around himself.

"Well," he said, "I must be off. There are many things to do, and only I can do them. And if that's not vague enough for you," Vash said, striking a mock heroic pose and pointing pointedly (so to speak) at Slip, "then heed my words: beware the one who speaks words of past nebulous events that may or may not have taken place!"

"Now I know you're just pulling my tail," said Slip, laughing. He too stood.

Vash smiled and extended his paw. "It was good to see you."

"And you too." Slip shook paws with him.

And the moment he let go, Vash shot up the nearest tree and, with that raucous laughter akin to the jesting of a crow, he was off. Leaping from branch to branch with lighting speed, he disappeared off into the distance.

Slip stood there a while longer, pondering the mysterious squirrel's words. He couldn't make heads or tails of anything Vash said. But if his request meant that the debt was paid, then that was fine. He turned and headed back the way he had come, back to the path. He would have many things to report to badgerlord Sharpeye, and a few day's walk to ponder how he was going to present them.

Once again, a lone rat trudged along the path through Mossflower Wood.

And off in the distance, very faintly, there was the rumbling of thunder.


End file.
